They Called Us Heroes
by BrokenByMagic
Summary: A rip between the Underworld and the World of the Living has opened and five must answer the call to o children of Aries, one of Athena, one of Hermes and then me, Apollo's child with a gift I never use... The people of the villages called us heroes and we reveled in the sound of those words. Little did we know then that Heroes were the last things we wanted to be.


They called us heroes.

We walked down the streets and they cheered our names and we reveled in the sound. There were five of us then and though we knew the way would be rough we all still walked with our heads held high, taking pride in the way they called out to us, begging for us to touch their hands, to gift them with trinkets.

We were the heroes.

For when the shadows came we were the ones who stood to stand against them. So towards the shadows was where we were headed.

I remember Markaul was laughing with his sister when we finally left there. They were laughing at the way the people had been so willing to grovel before us in thanks for fighting back against their foes.

"If they want it gone so badly," he questioned once, "Why don't they take up their swords against it themselves?"

Pallae, his sister had laughed, "Because the people here still believe in the prophecies of that old woman, brother. To her credit, she had said five would come and sure enough there were five who were silly enough to come."

Markaul had chuckled quietly, "Yes well, she failed to mention why they would come. If the prophecy had mentioned the Lord of the Dead losing control of the Underworld there would have most certainly been a lack of five strangers to answer their cry for help."

Lindir gave a hoarse laugh, "You mean to say you would have been so cruel as to not come to their aid when they called for you?"

Markaul had turned his even gaze to the man, "I am saying that had I known that there were dead folk walking about in the land of the living I would have sent someone more qualified to handle the matter."

Porthol frowned, "Nonsense Markaul, there are few more qualified to handle these matters than us. It was us five after all who were descended from the gods themselves."

I remember looking up at the sky and thinking, "Descended from the gods themselves… it doesn't get much better than that…."

"Dere?"

I jumped violently and turned to face Lindir uneasily, "What do you think of the whole matter?"

I glanced again at the sky before I lowered my gaze once more to Lindir, "I will do as the gods command me to. One day they may write stories afterall…."

Porthol grinned mischievously, "Yes, perhaps they will. And when they do they'll be sure to mention the Darling Dere, the Dashing Porthol, the much less dashing Lindir, the rather gruesome looking Markaul and the tragically related to the rather gruesome looking ma's younger sister Pallae. Oh the stories they will write!"

I laughed gaily at his antics, "I don't suppose they'll be mentioning you overly much then Pallae due to your long title and for that I am sorry."

She merely laughed, "A tragedy, Im sure. Though honestly Porthol, names like those are the ones that border on insult so be careful where you tread."

I laughed again and gazed upon my fellow party members. Markaul was a large man, large enough to border on unnaturally so. His face bore upon it an old scar that left one side drooping slightly though when he smiled you could hardly tell. His eyes held a certain light within them that left no doubt that he was in fact a friendly soul.

His sister was nothing short of beautiful. He height, while anything but tall was at just the size that made you want to protect her even though she didn't need it. It was hard to look into her eyes for long however for, strangely enough, she was the scarier of the two children of Aries.

Lindir had long blonde hair and a smile that could light up a room when he chose to give it. He was normally a quiet soul who never got along overly well with the siblings for whatever reason. He was kind and gentle but terrifying as she happened to know he knew at least seven hundred different ways to kill a man without much effort. Athena would be proud.

As for Porthol he was a happy man who was perhaps a little too happy to be leaving the town behind them. He had short black hair and his eyes were nearly golden in the light of day, something they had not known in these parts since the hole between the Underworld and the Living opened. He was a son of Hermes.

And then there was me. Dere. I was a small thing, not much to look at, not much to see. I was there and most never even knew. I spoke softly and little if I spoke at all. I just hope Apollo knew what he was doing when he sent me…

I remember there was much laughing as we made our way, oh how they loved to be called heroes, how they loved the way it sounded, the way it felt.


End file.
